-
Insert RP posts into this thread if you wish.
I will edit this post to show the power boost count.
Please keep this thread clean of non-RP posts.
If you don't know what this thread is:
http://www.hard-light.net/forums/index.php?topic=92504.0
Power Boosts
1st DD +4
3rd DD +5
Power Boosts
5th Cordi +1
-
The Ihefulian system was a shining jewel in a sea of hostile space; the sole safe haven that the once-ragged band of colonists had found after years of roaming the big black. In its centre lay a red dwarf, one of the most common stars in the cosmos: a cool, enduring furnace, smack in the middle of the Corvus nebula. It did not look welcoming. It wasn’t the paradise that the colonists were looking for. But it was orbited by a large exoplanet, right in the farthest reaches of its goldilocks zone.
Ihefulian Prime (the colonists were not particularly imaginative) had water. And plant life. And an oxygen atmosphere. It also hosted some of the fiercest predators in the known universe, was as cold as deepest Siberia in the winter and, most importantly, was rich in heavy minerals and toxins that were a devil to keep out of the diet of the colonists.
Ihefulian was as far from a jewel as a system can be when the first ships came screaming from the sky, their failing drives raising clouds of steam from the pristine glaciers below. It became a jewel. Slowly. Over decades. As the colonists (they weren’t Delest yet, but they soon became Delest, oh yes) took a look around, said “Right, let’s get to work” (or “Давай работать”, or “働きましょう”, depending on the ship they got out of), rolled up their sleeves and, with sheer bloody-mindedness, ground and polished the ugly, lump-of-coal world they had been gifted with into a shining diamond.
Now, many generations later, Ihefulian Prime was heated to a (relatively) comfortable temperature by a carefully controlled greenhouse effect. Its glaciers had been beaten back, and hydroponic facilities and farmlands fed a population of billions. Its predators had been driven to near-extinction, their essence and DNA incorporated into that of the Delest, made to serve the new masters of their world. It was now the seat of a growing empire, with a young and active Empress at the helm.
And she was at the helm, make no mistake. Unlike her predecessor, Vladimir Yama Delest, and her not-much-lamented rivals in the succession wars, Yu Ki Kohakuren Delest was a truly talented leader; a master of politics; an inspirational figure for the population and a dedicated reformer.
How much of that was due to the mentors and supporters she had chosen to surround herself with since her early childhood is debatable. What is not debatable is that she could always inspire near-fanatical loyalty to her followers – political and otherwise.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
The aircar (a big, black, blocky brute of a thing) touched down on the landing pad of the Summer Palace, its anti-grav kicking off a cloud of dust that settled on the uniforms of the Yonsakuren honour guard. They, of course, remained impassive. There was no battle to be joined – so there was little emotion to be had.
This changed when the greying Praetor unfolded out from the rear seat and returned the welcoming lieutenant’s salute. So that was who the Empress was expecting. The Yonsakuren knew old Ivan. There were subtle changes in posture; eyes shifted to follow the limping admiral as he was ushered inside. Meaningful glances were exchanged. Thin smiles –thin enough to avoid the ire of their sergeant made an appearance. Predatory smiles.
The Yonsakuren knew old Ivan. From the succession wars, when his fleet had smashed the traitor squadrons over Uuni. From the great Ural purge, after the attempted assassination of the Empress. From his ruthless crackdown on the rebellious remnants and pirates in the rim systems. There were very few reasons why he would be asked to report to the Empress in such short notice. And from a Yonsakuren point of view, all of them were good reasons.
There was unspoken agreement among the guards: whatever the future held for the Yonsakuren, it would definitely include…emotion.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
The Summer Palace was not as imposing as the sprawling Imperial Residence, but it was, in its way, more beautiful. Built (mostly) with white, blue-veined marble, it was vaguely reminiscent of an Old Earth pagoda castle. It hung from a black cliff next to the massive azure expanse of the Mansiyskoe Glacier, in a tableau that Immanuel Kant would show no hesitation in pronouncing ‘sublime!’
For generations, it had served as a peaceful retreat for the members of the Imperial family and for their retinue. Yu Ki Kohakuren, on the other hand, had neither the opportunity nor, in truth, the inclination for the long vacations of her predecessors. And so, the Summer Palace, while no less serene at first sight, was finding itself hosting some rather un-characteristic hustling and bustling behind the scenes.
Ivan Dimitrievic Kalazonitov saw nothing of the messengers scrambling around, or the Palace staff labouring to host Her Divine Imperial Majesty’s administrative team to her satisfaction, or the negotiations and political jockeying that was happening behind closed doors. He was ushered directly from the landing pad to the High Solarium, where Her Majesty had summoned him for an audience, a stone-faced valet shadowing his steps, straightening his uniform and brushing invisible specks of dust from his shoulders as he went.
The Solarium itself was a spiderweb of glass and gilded steel, next to a terrace overlooking the glacier. It was blindingly bright and warm, despite the cold outdoors, so the Empress had chosen to slightly tint the glass for the audience, a fact for which Kalazonitov was profoundly grateful.
His arrival was announced and acknowledged; he was permitted to enter; he stepped in and waited to be addressed, as was good and proper.
The Empress was seated behind the golden lattice reserved for the most formal of audiences; she was partly hidden from view, but Kalazonitov could make out the bright glow from the dataslate she was working on and the silhouettes of the attendants who awaited her beck and call. Upon his entrance, she looked up, laid her dataslate to the side with a firm click of crystal-on-table and straightened up.
“Approach, Praetor,” she commanded.
Kalazonitov stepped forward, to the already-prepared table and kneeling-cushion, ten feet from the lattice. Slowly, carefully, he lowered his aching knees -bone and metal- to the cushion and made his obeisance.
“Command me, Bright Lady,” he said.
The Empress’ right hand moved slightly; an attendant scrambled forward with a serving tray. Exquisitely prepared tea was served on an eggshell-thin porcelain cup and placed on the table in front of Kalazonitov. The attendant bowed deeply and withdrew again.
“I have need of your expertise,” the Empress spoke again. “I am receiving conflicting reports from various sources. That is unacceptable. I require an information source that I can trust, to help weed out those which are false. Speak concisely but withhold nothing.
“Firstly, have you familiarised yourself with all reports from the incursion front?”
Kalazonitov bowed sharply.
“I have studied all reports made available to me, Bright Lady. I am confident that I possess as much information on the incursion as possible at this point in time.”
“Good,” came the reply. “Let us, then, proceed. What are your thoughts on the current state of our available military assets?”
Kalazonitov looked up in surprise.
“It…it is impossible to be brief on this matter, Bright Lady. Even if I were to only concisely discuss the Fleet and Army assets I am familiar with, it would take hours.”
“Summarise, Praetor,” came the cold response. “I do not object to generalisations. And be as blunt as you need to be.”
Kalazonitov bowed his head again. “Yes, Bright Lady.” He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. “In short, then: it is my belief that our fleet assets as they stand now are unable to perform tactically in any meaningful way. Sadly, your predecessor’s budgetary policies and the succession wars have caused our research and production to stagnate. The corruption, sadly present in all levels of Your Majesty’s administration, does not help, I regret to say. From a quality of equipment perspective, Your Majesty’s fleets lag woefully behind most of the current competition – and are barely on par with the most primitive of the attacking species. It is impossible for us to employ these assets in any type of precise, surgical manner against our current opponents.
“That said, our ships are still capable of effectively pursuing strategic goals. We may work with older technology, but it’s tried and tested, reliable technology. Our crews are skilled veterans of the succession wars and they know how to keep our ships running – at least among the Border Fleets. And although our strikecraft are antiquated, our capital ships are equal, if not superior, in firepower to their analogues in our newfound allies’ fleets.
“Finally, we enjoy a benefit that our allies do not, in that our crews and soldiers are, quite literally, willing to die for you, Bright Lady. Yonsakuren or not, there is no man or woman among my sailors who would not lay their life down at your command. But this you already know, Bright Lady.
“In summation: it is my belief that any war the Dynasty finds itself in in the near future, we will begin by losing. Possibly badly. We will, in all likelihood, suffer grave defeats at first. But our fleets have staying power and, if our weak points are addressed decisively and in an organised manner, I believe we can win a protracted war. Especially if we join forces with the rest of humanity on this venture.”
Throughout his speech, Kalazonitov did not fail to notice a few gasps from the attendant audience. In all honesty, he had expected them. No ruler ever wanted to hear that their nation’s military power was subpar; similar objections from fleet officers during Vladimir Yama Delest’s reign had been met with scorn, willful ignorance or outright hostility from the throne. And…suggesting an alliance? With perfidious Albion? That was…near heresy. But he had been instructed to speak bluntly and he thought he knew his Empress’ mind.
And then he had said his piece and there was silence. A silence that drew on, for several heartbeats.
“Please, Praetor,” the Empress said at last. “Have a drink. It would be a shame for the tea to grow cold.”
Kalazonitov bowed, with a sharp, nearly invisible smile, and picked up his cup. Lifting it carefully, he toasted the Empress and took a sip. It was a fine and slightly bitter taste, a taste that brought back memories of not-so-distant years, when he had fought to secure a young princess her birthright. It was gratifying to know that his tastes were both known and taken into account.
“Your words are heard, Praetor,” the Empress said. “They are very interesting, indeed. There are very few advisors of mine who have adopted your stance on this matter.”
Her hand reached to the side and picked up her dataslate again. A few crystal tones echoed through the room, as she brought up the files of her choosing.
“Premier Stefan Gregorovic Xiao insists that our diplomatic position at this time is delicate and that the extensive mobilisation of forces you seem to imply will be necessary is out of the question. Your thoughts on the matter?”
“I am not a diplomat, nor a politician, Bright Lady. It is not my place to question the authority of the Dynasty’s government. I have been assigned a position of high responsibility in the business of war and I will perform my duty to the best of my ability. I will deploy my forces if and where I am instructed to. If my government wishes me to succeed, they will provide me with what I request. If they wish me to die trying, they only need to instruct me. I will obey my Empress’ commands.”
“I am aware of that.” The words were uttered matter-of-factly. “The sentiment is, of course, acknowledged and appreciated, but you shall please refrain from wasting my time with self-evident statements. Would you be averse to working with the Brittons?”
Kalazonitov was taken aback by the question. “Of course not, Bright Lady. Not if I were instructed to.”
“So, there are no bad feelings that might compromise your performance? You bear them no ill-will after the frontier wars?”
“I-I’m not sure I understand, Bright Lady,” Kalazonitov stammered. “I am a soldier. My duty is to the Dynasty, its people and its leader. I have fought the Brittons and the Guilds in the past, where it was necessary to safeguard our interests. If Your Majesty agrees with me in that working with them is now for the best, I will follow your commands. If Your Majesty does not, I will follow your commands.”
“I see.” The Empress did not appear completely satisfied but seemed willing to not press the issue, for which Kalazonitov was grateful. “These matters of technological inferiority to the enemy, then. Your recommendations, Praetor. Short-term action, for now.”
“I recommend that Your Majesty takes measures to immediately place our economy in a war footing,” came the response, immediately and without the doubt and confusion that had coloured the previous answers. “It is impossible to immediately address our technological inferiority. We should focus, instead, on making what we do have to the best of its ability. Nullify all private contracts in Archangel and Mingxing. Begin full-scale production of ships and ammunition – focus on reliable quantity over cutting-edge quality. Apply strict oversight over the officer corps, especially in the Home Fleets – corruption is, unfortunately, rampant. Run detailed, strict inspections on all military equipment - primarily any ships that are deployed to the front. Deploy secret service personnel among the crews, if necessary, to weed out the most problematic elements. Make sure that our logistics chain to the front works without corruption blocking the flow of material – this is paramount and will decide the war. Only after all of the above are secure does it make sense to invest in new technologies. Perhaps the planetary supercomputers in Ihefulian and Uuni could be made available to the Navy and Army R & D departments?”
“I see,” said the Empress. “I note your recommendations, Praetor. I find them of interest. My final question – if the Delest were to participate in this war, against these…intruders – how large a force would you propose we send?”
“Initially, two to four fleets, Bright Lady, assuming equivalent participation from all parties,” said Kalazonitov. “Frontier forces, preferably. They should be sufficient to mire the enemy’s advance, especially if we properly coordinate with our allies. Then, constant reinforcements. It is inadvisable to deploy more battlegroups in this theatre of operations – there are simply not enough starlances and tactical options to justify more than that.”
There was silence again.
“You are promising me a long war, Praetor,” said the Empress, finally. “No ruler wants to hear that.”
“No, Bright Lady,” Kalazonitov protested, bowing low. “I do nothing of the sort. I believe that there is a very good chance that we may prove victorious quickly. However, we would be fighting against an opponent whose capabilities are still unknown but evidently formidable. My duty compels me to advise you that not preparing for a long war under these circumstances is a grave error.”
“Oh?” The Empress sounded amused. “There are many advisers in my court who would consider that last remark quite presumptuous, Praetor. And who would find themselves in direct opposition to your advice.”
Kalazonitov paled noticeably and brought his head down to touch the floor.
“I meant no offense to Your Majesty, or to Your Majesty’s officials,” he said. “Please forgive this old soldier for overstepping his bounds. I stand ready to be instructed on the foolishness of my advice by anyone Your Majesty sees fit and I will accept such instruction willingly and humbly. However, until that time, I firmly believe that my advice is to the benefit of the Dynasty, its people and Yourself, Bright Lady.”
“Hmmmmmm,” the Empress mused. “Time will tell. Thankfully, Praetor, I do not consider you presumptuous – you were under orders to be blunt, after all and you have served my interests with distinction in the past. The intricacies of being diplomatic still seem to elude you, but I can’t fault your results in the battlefield and that’s what matters, now, isn’t it?
“Very well, then, Praetor. I have a command for you.”
Kalazonitov had slightly raised his head as the Empress was speaking; now, down it went again.
“Yes, Bright Lady.”
“You are to fully mobilise the Third Frontier Fleet. I am aware that it is understrength and lacks capital ships; funds have been allocated to reactivate the mothballed carriers Katyusha, Anastasia, Elena and Ekaterina, as well as the siege ship Amour. During this period, you have the authority to recruit as you see fit, from all branches of the Frontier navy, the Yonsakuren clan and our engineering corps. That includes any drafted engineering personnel. Upon re-commisioning of the ships, you are to make best speed toward the front and assist the First and Second Frontier Fleets in dealing with this incursion. You will probably need to coordinate with … other local forces as well, but apparently this is not going to be a problem for you. Any questions?”
“None, Bright Lady. I fly to strike at your enemies.”
“You will do nothing of the sort, Praetor,” came the sharp reply. “You have not been dismissed.”
Kalazonitov froze, his back drenched in cold sweat.
There was a moment of silence and then a soft-spoken command from behind the lattice, followed by muffled scuffing and motion. Then silence again. Kalazonitov didn’t dare move, his forehead almost touching the ground.
“Look at me, Ivan Dimitrievic Kalazonitov,” said the Empress.
Kalazonitov looked up.
The lattice had been pushed to the side. Yu Ki Kohakuren Delest, was there, for him to see, seated on the intricate Dynasty throne, resplendent in all her glory of grey and gold.
(https://s12.postimg.cc/un7q4kal9/original_drawn_by_jeffr_sample_543a52c7df195a.jpg) (https://s18.postimg.cc/5as2gsxx5/original_drawn_by_jeffr_sample_543a52c7df195a.jpg)
His heart
skipped
a beat.
His forehead felt cold as ice.
This was the Empress. This was the Bright Lady.
At that moment, for that infinite heartbeat, there was nothing else in the world.
How could there be? How could he feel anything else? He was Delest.
She was the Empress.
His mind, his heart, his everything screamed at him:
LOYALTY. DUTY. SACRIFICE.
The Empress was looking down on him, her face a mask of ice.
Her eyes met his and he couldn’t look away.
His heart
beat
again
– and the whole world came crashing back in, along with his exhalation.
Yu Ki Kohakuren Delest smiled.
“Good,” she said. “Very good, indeed. I had heard the bond of duty was strong with you, Ivan Dimitrievic Kalazonitov. And after your unwavering support of me during the succession wars, I believed it. But I had to make sure. Not many who are as loyalty-bound as you manage to reach positions of this high responsibility.”
Kalazonitov croaked something in response. He wanted to speak – but the words failed to come. This… this was impossible. He had seen this girl before, during the wars. He had fought to keep her alive and to grant her the throne he believed she was entitled to. He was among the officers who had sheltered her in the thick of the fight. This was not the first time he had seen the face of Yu Ki Kohakuren. But he had never experienced this before. This…what was this?
She kept smiling and her approval nearly blotted out the sun again.
“I am your Empress, now, Praetor,” she said, seemingly reading his mind. “Not the little princess you once fought for. Things have changed. What I stand for has changed. And, therefore, how you see me has changed. You are a Delest of the old breed, after all.”
A perfect eyebrow lifted an infinitesimal fraction of an inch.
“Literally, in your case.”
The smile faded, but the amusement remained.
“Now you are dismissed, Praetor Ivan Dimitrievic Kalazonitov.”
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Note: :p
Yeah, I'm going there. Since Spoon touched upon the matter of genetic obedience conditioning for the Delest (http://www.hard-light.net/forums/index.php?topic=90005.msg1788925#msg1788925), I was always wondering how that would feel for the Delest citizens. And how interacting with a person who is your social equal would change if this person acquired a position of authority (at which point the conditioning kicks in). And how would it feel to interact with the EMPEROR of the Delest - in whom all authority resides?
So, yeah. Kalazonitov is, indeed, vat-grown. And conditioned. One of the older batches, obviously, given his age. And he has that rare 'spark' that allows some of the conditioned people to not sacrifice much of their imagination and creativity and ambition. But, he still runs on the rails of his conditioning. He still chooses to support Yu Ki Kohakuren's bid for power because he is loyal to her and to the Dynasty and he thinks she's the best option for the State. And once she's crowned, she hides behind that lattice, and he does his duty, on the rails as always, and then she smacks him over the head with an eyeful of DIVINE IMPERIAL AUTHORITY RESPECT ME MORTAL and watches his reaction as he sees Yu Ki Kohakuren Delest, the EMPRESS , for the first time. Just because she wants to use him as a tactical reformist scalpel and wants to make sure his loyalty to her is absolute.
Image by artist jeffr, rehosted to avoid possible NSFW links.
-
(https://i.somethingawful.com/forumsystem/emoticons/emot-golfclap.gif)
To repeat myself like a broken record, I love reading these.
-
Genetic conditioning for loyalty. I never considered that they would go so far.
Social opposite the anti-genetic engineering stance of Britania. This would make them natural enemies perhaps.
-
Genetic conditioning for loyalty. I never considered that they would go so far.
Social opposite the anti-genetic engineering stance of Britania. This would make them natural enemies perhaps.
"Perhaps", he says...
-
Genetic conditioning for loyalty. I never considered that they would go so far.
Social opposite the anti-genetic engineering stance of Britania. This would make them natural enemies perhaps.
"Perhaps", he says...
(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m162jfE3dT1r1c6jgo2_500.jpg)
-
I hope nobody minds that I am trying to attract some players from over at
(http://well-of-souls.com/outsider/images/fearsomefoursome14.jpg)
http://well-of-souls.com/outsider/index.html
http://www.well-of-souls.com/forums/viewforum.php?f=4
-
I don't know if anyone would be able to RP a setting they initially know nothing about, and I'm not sure how possible it would be without actually playing the original Wings of Dawn. But they're welcome to try, and the original forum game from Spoon would be the place to look for inspiration. It might well be possible just from the RP there. There is at least one full playthrough of Wings of Dawn on Youtube if people want to watch that. As it is, with only one player currently involved (though if I could handpick that one player it would be Enioch) the odds of the Terrans winning are not zero, it's never zero as long as one fleet exists, but it's very unlikely. With the Hierarchy's terrible start I was thinking it might be realistically possible to have a low player participation win, but then they busted out three brutal rounds in a row, the last one the most brutal coinciding with the Terrans' first flat out bad round. But it shows how quickly things can change. Realistically it's going to take a concerted effort by multiple participants to raise the level of the Terran fleets enough to take the Hierarchy down.
-
Genetic conditioning for loyalty. I never considered that they would go so far.
Social opposite the anti-genetic engineering stance of Britania. This would make them natural enemies perhaps.
"Perhaps", he says...
:lol:
I don't know if anyone would be able to RP a setting they initially know nothing about, and I'm not sure how possible it would be without actually playing the original Wings of Dawn. But they're welcome to try, and the original forum game from Spoon would be the place to look for inspiration. It might well be possible just from the RP there. There is at least one full playthrough of Wings of Dawn on Youtube if people want to watch that. As it is, with only one player currently involved (though if I could handpick that one player it would be Enioch) the odds of the Terrans winning are not zero, it's never zero as long as one fleet exists, but it's very unlikely. With the Hierarchy's terrible start I was thinking it might be realistically possible to have a low player participation win, but then they busted out three brutal rounds in a row, the last one the most brutal coinciding with the Terrans' first flat out bad round. But it shows how quickly things can change. Realistically it's going to take a concerted effort by multiple participants to raise the level of the Terran fleets enough to take the Hierarchy down.
Well, then, I'd better put this up, before we get completely stomped. Also, Doctorate takes more time than I thought. And I also need to finalise an article. So, this is as fast as I can possibly crank these out.
Also:
(though if I could handpick that one player it would be Enioch)
:nervous:
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Olga Ilieva was a graduate of the Imperial School for Aerospatial engineering. An honours graduate. She was natural born, to a family of natural borns: her brain fired on all plasma conduits, thankyouverymuch! She had once been bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with the world as her oyster. She had three years as a fuselage and avionics designer in the Sodesuka yards, for the Empress’ sake!
Just how she had been reduced to a welding team supervisor in the grubby, state-owned Archangel yards was beyond her. Where had her life gone so wrong?
It may have been the massive budget cuts after the succession wars – Sodesuka had been hit hard by various warring factions and had no choice but to downsize to keep their budget in the black. It may have been that sow of a section chief, who had padded her own portfolio with Olga’s work. Or it may have been Karma because her life had simply been going so well before.
Whatever the case, she was here now, leading a team of blue collars, with a plasma torch in her hand, a work quota for the day and a pay-check that barely took her through the month. Sad, really. And that infernal Goro Inoue had messed up the weld again. And that would take at least two hours to clean up properly and redo.
So, all-in-all, Olga Ilieva was not a happy woman and was making her unhappiness known quite fluently to her team when the soldiers marched into the massive drydock.
Things . . . got downhill pretty fast from that point.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Well, there were some bright spots in this mess, Olga thought. Or as close to ‘bright’ as things could get when you were told that the half-million private yacht you were building (and which paid your bills) would have to be frozen and the docks re-purposed for the re-activation of a decade-old Fleet carrier. For one thing, she got to see that insufferable dock manager marched out of his office at gunpoint, with an MP rattling off a rap sheet as long as her forearm. She wasn’t that familiar with the intricacies of the judicial system, but she knew ‘embezzlement’ in a state-owned facility usually translated to ‘crystal mine holidays’.
Thankfully, the workforce were left to their own devices, past a very basic announcement by an officer of how thigs were going to be from now on. And she supposed the small bonus she got as a supervisor was welcome, even if it was in the form of governmental chits.
And she had to admit that Katyusha was not a bad ship to be working on. The carrier was old, true, but its systems were simple and easy to bring up to working order. As an added bonus and contrarily to old planet-bound navies, mothballed spaceships did not corrode further when placed in long-term storage – hard vacuum was a good preserver. There were a million things to do, of course, and most involved ripping out the old systems and Frankensteining solutions and interfaces with more modern technology, but that was easy work for Olga and it paid well and on that front she had no complaints.
And then, of course, the Universe had to throw her a curveball in the shape of Gregor Petrovich Yonsakuren, who descended upon her poor team (and herself) like a vengeful god.
His first appearance was a couple of weeks after the work in Katyusha started. He just walzed in the Epsilon Battery control centre, looked around, shoved Alexei away from his assigned post, inspected the seams in Control Panel Three (the one reserved for energy weapon targeting, if you have to know), spent five minutes digging through the electronics of the plasma bottle, humphed like a constipated walrus (or what Ilieva assumed a constipated walrus sounded like, blame her overactive imagination) and walked back out without saying a word.
He was back a few days later. They found them waiting for them at the start of their shift, kneeling on the centre of the control centre, in an immaculate dress uniform, with a nondescript bottle nearby and a row of shot glasses arrayed like soldiers in front of him.
“I am Chief Fire Controlman Gregor Petrovich, of the Yonsakuren clan,” he growled as they clustered by the door, uncertain. “This will be my station on this ship. Sit.”
He indicated the floor in front of him and there was something in his voice harmonics that made it clear that refusing would be a very bad idea. The workmen and –women hesitantly obeyed and sat, cross-legged, in a pale imitation of his strait-backed posture.
“My aim in life is to know my job; to know everything that pertains to practical spaceborne weaponry and ordnance. As long as there is any operation or piece of equipment I do not fully understand, my job is incomplete. I have therefore decided to be present throughout the reactivation and refit process of this ship and, more specifically, my station in it. I will be overseeing your work, making sure it is to my satisfaction and to the satisfaction of my commanding officer.”
The workmen exchanged worried glances – Olga not least among them. This sort of direct oversight could not bode well. His next words did not reassure them.
“I need to warn you that the Yonsakuren clan operates to the highest standards and that I will hold your work to no less than that. Furthermore, this ship is to be commanded by Captain Urumov and serve as the flagship for Praetor Kalazonitov. You might not know these names, but they are well-known to the Yonsakuren. My clan owes them a great debt since they came to our aid during the succession wars and drove off the traitor squadrons from the Uuni orbitals. It will be the height of dishonour and a direct insult to them for my station to perform at anything less than perfection while serving under their command.
“In the following days, we will rip every system in this station out of its mountings, test them to my complete satisfaction and re-integrate them into the ship in a way that is compact, functional and easily maintainable. You will be familiarised with Yonsakuren methods for enhancing efficiency and will be expected to show a work ethic suitable for a citizen of the Dynasty. You will be expected to work paid overtime.”
Olga swallowed audibly. ‘Yonsakuren efficiency’ did not sound good.
“Those among you who perform to my satisfaction will receive a pay bonus directly from the Yonsakuren clan relative to their contribution and a recommendation for promotion in Archangel, if you choose to remain here. As an alternative, you will be given the opportunity to enlist as part of the Katyusha crew, with what amounts to a two-hundred-percent raise in pay, all the training, duties and privileges attached to a Specialist of the Delest Frontier Fleets and considerably improved chances in finding civilian employ when your stint with the navy ends. If all else fails, a recommendation from a Yonsakuren of my rank will guarantee you employment at Uuni.
“Those of you who perform to my dissatisfaction will be warned once, with no impact on their prospects; should they continue to perform at a subpar level, their employment with the Archangel shipyards will be terminated with no second warning. I trust I have made myself absolutely clear on this point.”
There were pale faces, weak nods and whispered ‘Yessirs’ all around.
“Good. I look forward to working with you,” Petrovich growled. His ape-like hands unfolded; reached for the bottle; uncorked and poured.
“Take a glass,” he ordered and everybody rushed to obey. The drink was clear, with a faint smell of alcohol. A few of the workers made to toast and drink, but Petrovich’s glare froze them to the spot. His eyes found Alexei, who flinched; the hulking NCO was twice the boy’s size.
“Welder Alexei Gregorovich Xing, you are the most junior employee in this room,” Petrovich rumbled. “You will speak the toast.”
“I…what? I mean…I don’t understand, Sir,” Alexei stammered.
“You will stand,” Petrovich instructed and Alexei scrambled to his feet. “You will raise the glass” –Alexei did, his hand shaking- “and toast to the health of the Empress, and to the success of the project you are currently embarking on.”
“To…to the Bright Lady!” Alexei’s voice broke. Olga knew the lad was vat-grown and it showed as his posture stiffened to something resembling military attention. “And…to the Katyusha?”
Petrovich nodded sharply. “The Bright Lady and Katyusha!” he snapped, raising his glass and the workers echoed him, weakly. He downed his drink in one shot and the workers followed suit, more or less tentatively.
There were coughs, and red faces, and the one impressive spurt of high-content Uuni samogon across the control panels, but Ilieva thought she availed herself rather well, what with only her ears catching on fire.
Petrovich seemed satisfied with her tolerance, at least. Not that she needed his approval or anything.
-
Hey, does this work two ways? Huck Fumanity :p
I don't usually do this but let's give it a whirl.
======
The massive but poorly lit bridge of the Hertak Flagship, always offered a sense of calmness to the mind of the 689th emperor of the Hertak Hierarchy. When he was bothered by something, he always came here, to dig through the memories of all the 688 emperors that came before him, in search for an answer. The soft humming and the occasional soft beeping from the consoles added a sense of serenity that he so desperately craved in times like these. He found that he had not been alone in this. Roughly 340 of the previous emperors had also preferred the comfort of the throne on board their flagships, as places of meditation. 'Throne' was stretching the definition of the word a bit. It was really more of a elevated bed, with soft pillows that were so easy on the scales and carapace.
Emperor Gggjlaz-... it's really kind of a mouthful, let's call him Murial, it's much easier on the tongue.
Emperor Murial had spend the whole past week searching for past memories that might offer him an idea on how to exploit a weakness in the Terran physiology, or on how to defeat their fleets without total annihilation. Time after all, was running short, and Murial could ill afford delaying preparations for the next stage of the Hertak's grand design by much longer.
The doors to the bridge opened, and the impressive figure of High fleet admiral Tyiirr-, let's go with Garmosh, slipped through it. By Hertak standards, it could be considered a 'stride'. His black and brown upper body scales merged into green and red colored carapace of his lower tentacled body. Murial had always admired Garmosh, as a prime example of what a powerful Hertak warlord should look like. It was not just physical prowess, but also a strong, keen mind, that was capable of outputting psi waves that could (quite literally) melt the minds of lesser races.
Garmosh moved to the front of the Imperial 'throne' with an eldritch grace, and did something resembling a bow.
"My liege" his voice reverbed as if he spoke with two voices at once "the Terrans are..." "Not yet defeated." Murial finished the sentence for him.
"Indeed my lord." Garmosh waved three of his tentacles, in some kind of apology gesture.
Murial let out a raspy sigh, two of his tongues left his massive beholder like mouth, and were not immediately redrawn back into his mouth. This was considered rude body language in Hertak society, but Murial did not care, for he is the 689th emperor.
Garmosh was not blind to the irritation on his emperor's face, he considered his next words carefully. "My liege... We may not, have time for subtleties with these Terrans. We may need to consider being more... forceful."
The implication made by Garmosh that Murial's overall strategy was anything less than perfect irked him. But, he did not summon his most esteemed High fleet admiral to hear him out and then ignore his suggestions.
Murial raised one of his appendages towards Garmosh, and closed three of his eyes to think. After a moment, he returned his gaze on Garmosh and addressed him with a raised voice, a rumbling, eerie sound that would send chills up a human spine. "We understand the situation. In the interest of the overall time table, I shall grant you permission to do what needs to be done to bring the Terran kingdoms to compliance. You may employ all the forces and tactics necessary to ensure a quick and decisive victory."
Garmosh's massive mouth curled upwards in a grin. He bowed and rumbled a word of gratitude and gracefully started 'striding' towards the exit.
Murial watched him leave, and let himself slide into a more comfortable position. Short as the exchange may have seemed, this decision was not one he made easily. Destroyed starships and dead warriors were of no use to him. If the Terrans could not be conquered with a net gain as the end result, than there was no point in invading their space.
He would let Garmosh handle it from here, a worry less on his troubled mind. Murial let out a gurgling sigh and let his thoughts slip away in the comforts of repose.
-
I considered the possibility that someone might want to before I started the game, and yes, if you really wanted to since you put the effort in to RP, you can boost the Hierarchy instead. But trust me, the Hierarchy doesn't need any help.
I don't think you are serious, so unless you specify otherwise, I will boost the 2nd CRF before tomorrow's turn. Since I know that's the one fleet that it's owner won't be coming in to RP. You can specify a specific faction if you like, and I'll boost a fleet within it. Everyone except the CSA is available to choose.
-
Oh but I am, mister bond. Dead serious.
Down with humanity.
-
Oh but I am, mister bond. Dead serious.
Down with humanity.
Truly?
-
Trulies :nervous:
-
I have to assume he's serious. If I don't hear otherwise before I do the next turn, I'll boost the Hierarchy.
-
Everyone except the CSA is available to choose.
If I RP will it have any effect i suck at writing
-
*snip*
You monster. :(
Lorric, what do the Power Boosts actually do? Do they enhance survivability? Damage? Chance of causing damage?
-
Everyone except the CSA is available to choose.
If I RP will it have any effect i suck at writing
Yes. You and you alone can boost the 1st CSA. It will also jump the 1st CSA to the front of the respawn queue over any non-RPd fleets should it be destroyed. I enjoyed your work last time.
-
*snip*
You monster. :(
Lorric, what do the Power Boosts actually do? Do they enhance survivability? Damage? Chance of causing damage?
Improve the odds of dealing damage.
-
The Hertak Armageddon raged, the space around it dotted with fire. Anything that dared fly inside the range of its batteries died a quick and fiery death.
The light cruiser Danube was a drifting ball of fire and plasma, its entire crew dead after the Hertak’s lances had speared through shields, armor and bulkheads and found its power plants. Its fighter complement were being swatted out of the sky by the Hertak strikecraft. Three hundred Delest, dead in an instant.
But its charge, the precious, precious Fleet Carrier Ekaterina and the heavy cruisers Luga and Tosna were finally clear of danger and beyond the effective range of the Hertak’s weapons.
Ekaterina’s flight decks were finally cleared of debris and her first Sodesuka CAP blasted off to meet the enemy Drones and Ravagers. Luga angled her armor and turned her drives directly toward the Armageddon, blinding its sensors with the EM wash of her exhaust plumes and raking its forward beam emplacements with ripple fire from her missile emplacements and aft batteries. And Tosna screamed around, in a high-g manoeuver that redlined her artificial gravity generators, and charged the Armageddon head-on, her forward batteries blazing.
It was no suicide charge, although the Hertak commander could be excused for thinking so. The charging cruiser had appeared out of the glare of Luga’s drives, rapidly closing the distance, in a collision course. Alarms blared all across the Hertak ship and it began slowly, ponderously, to swing around, unshadowing its starboard beams.
Anastasia jumped in, less than five hundred metres from its dorsal side, opening up with every energy battery she could bring to bear. She was moving too fast to allow the Hertak to retaliate and did not cause any significant damage as she blasted past the capital ship and, once again, opened the distance. But she did accomplish two things. Firstly – a shot from her Gamma battery gouged a massive scar across the armor of the Hertak ship, exposing the structures and bulkheads underneath. Secondly – she drew the attention of the Hertak helmsman, who reversed his course to avoid what he thought would be another collision.
Unfortunately, that exposed his flank to the Tosna.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Every Yonsakuren responds slightly differently to their battle instincts but all agree that the endorphin rush they get when they expect to join battle is sublime. The men and women of the Fifth and Sixth Marine Companies were no exception.
As the range closed, and battle drew closer and closer, some trembled in their armour. Others cried, silently, joyfully, emotion nearly overwhelming them. Others paired off and recited parts of their marching songs, their heads banging to the rhythm. Others listened to soft music with their comm sets; others pumped heavy metal and shook like wet dogs.
This was not unprofessional. It has been said that you never feel more alive than when death is close; never has that been more true than among the Yonsakuren. In those short moments, they experienced life to the fullest, in what they perceived to be the just reward for their service.
“Five hundred!” came the range count from the ship’s intercom and the Yonsakuren assumed breaching positions in the blink of an eye. Weapons clicked ready; visors came down, breaths slowed.
Time
stood
still.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Tosna rammed the Armageddon perfectly, ripping her own forward plating and part of her decks off, but firmly lodging herself into the gap in her opponent’s armor. The cruiser shook like a living thing as Hertak bulkheads crumpled before her but she kept going, burying herself deeply into the enemy’s underbelly.
Slowly, underscored by the groans of ripping metal, Tosna came to a relative stop.
Breaching charges went off. Atmosphere boiled off into vacuum.
And, with a bloodcurling yowl, like starving wolves, the men and women of Tosna poured out of their ship and into the corridors of the Hertak Armageddon, riding a wave of death. With rifle and pistol and knife, ever driven forward by their leaders, and with shouts of ‘Yu Ki! Yu Ki!’ and ‘Uuni’s hand!’, they pushed; and, to the Hertak’s dawning but short-lived horror, they did not stop.
Why didn't they st-
-
The Hertak Armageddon raged, the space around it dotted with fire. Anything that dared fly inside the range of its batteries died a quick and fiery death.
The light cruiser Danube was a drifting ball of fire and plasma, its entire crew dead after the Hertak’s lances had speared through shields, armor and bulkheads and found its power plants. Its fighter complement were being swatted out of the sky by the Hertak strikecraft. Three hundred Delest, dead in an instant.
But its charge, the precious, precious Fleet Carrier Ekaterina and the heavy cruisers Luga and Tosna were finally clear of danger and beyond the effective range of the Hertak’s weapons.
Ekaterina’s flight decks were finally cleared of debris and her first Sodesuka CAP blasted off to meet the enemy Drones and Ravagers. Luga angled her armor and turned her drives directly toward the Armageddon, blinding its sensors with the EM wash of her exhaust plumes and raking its forward beam emplacements with ripple fire from her missile emplacements and aft batteries. And Tosna screamed around, in a high-g manoeuver that redlined her artificial gravity generators, and charged the Armageddon head-on, her forward batteries blazing.
It was no suicide charge, although the Hertak commander could be excused for thinking so. The charging cruiser had appeared out of the glare of Luga’s drives, rapidly closing the distance, in a collision course. Alarms blared all across the Hertak ship and it began slowly, ponderously, to swing around, unshadowing its starboard beams.
Anastasia jumped in, less than five hundred metres from its dorsal side, opening up with every energy battery she could bring to bear. She was moving too fast to allow the Hertak to retaliate and did not cause any significant damage as she blasted past the capital ship and, once again, opened the distance. But she did accomplish two things. Firstly – a shot from her Gamma battery gouged a massive scar across the armor of the Hertak ship, exposing the structures and bulkheads underneath. Secondly – she drew the attention of the Hertak helmsman, who reversed his course to avoid what he thought would be another collision.
Unfortunately, that exposed his flank to the Tosna.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Every Yonsakuren responds slightly differently to their battle instincts but all agree that the endorphin rush they get when they expect to join battle is sublime. The men and women of the Fifth and Sixth Marine Companies were no exception.
As the range closed, and battle drew closer and closer, some trembled in their armour. Others cried, silently, joyfully, emotion nearly overwhelming them. Others paired off and recited parts of their marching songs, their heads banging to the rhythm. Others listened to soft music with their comm sets; others pumped heavy metal and shook like wet dogs.
This was not unprofessional. It has been said that you never feel more alive than when death is close; never has that been more true than among the Yonsakuren. In those short moments, they experienced life to the fullest, in what they perceived to be the just reward for their service.
“Five hundred!” came the range count from the ship’s intercom and the Yonsakuren assumed breaching positions in the blink of an eye. Weapons clicked ready; visors came down, breaths slowed.
Time
stood
still.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Tosna rammed the Armageddon perfectly, ripping her own forward plating and part of her decks off, but firmly lodging herself into the gap in her opponent’s armor. The cruiser shook like a living thing as Hertak bulkheads crumpled before her but she kept going, burying herself deeply into the enemy’s underbelly.
Slowly, underscored by the groans of ripping metal, Tosna came to a relative stop.
Breaching charges went off. Atmosphere boiled off into vacuum.
And, with a bloodcurling yowl, like starving wolves, the men and women of Tosna poured out of their ship and into the corridors of the Hertak Armageddon, riding a wave of death. With rifle and pistol and knife, ever driven forward by their leaders, and with shouts of ‘Yu Ki! Yu Ki!’ and ‘Uuni’s hand!’, they pushed; and, to the Hertak’s dawning but short-lived horror, they did not stop.
Why didn't they st-
Are you planning to capture the Armageddon?
EDIT: Quoted for new page.
Loving it. I was really glad that the dice came up for that attack on the Hertak. I wanted the game to give you a reward and now it has. :)
-
*shrug*
IC, if Kalazonitov had the opportunity to grab a more-or-less functional Armageddon for the price of a light cruiser, and a crippled heavy cruiser, he'd do it in a heartbeat, if only for the intel and morale value.
OOC, I don't think it matters in any mechanical way, and Spoon would scream if I stole one of his apocalypse machines, so eh. :p
-
(https://ibin.co/2wRkUDWURIWG.jpg)
It's not that its impossible though. It's just that Armageddon's are so stupidly huge and filled with so many Hertak that it'd quite a task to capture one. And then you'd need to prevent them from self destructing it. Because Hertak are the type of space nerds that would gleefully get the last laugh and deny the enemy their moment of glory.
-
See, told you. He's screaming already. Although I'm not sure that's a good scream or a bad scream. :p
Re: Hertak inside the Armageddon. It's a good thing the Delest have two fleet carriers with precision weaponry hovering nearby, after completely crushing the rest of the fleet. And a lot of soldiers with breaching power armor and location transmitters inside the enemy ship who have no problems calling in friendly artillery 'danger close' every time they get bogged down (in fact the bloody Yonsakuren probably get off on it).
'Oh, you want to hold this corridor? OK, give me a second. Anastasia fire control, give me a main battery two-second blast, thirty metres in front of my location. Yeah, I know I might get caught in the blast. Ain't that EXCITING?'
Obviously can't guarantee the Hertak won't blow themselves up, but the plan is to move so fast that they won't have time to set the self destruct before the Yonsakuren secure engineering and bridge.
-
Added image to first post. Because ran into it and it fits. A lot. Dem eyes.
EDIT: Stupid bbcode tags. No image resizing?
-
Added image to first post. Because ran into it and it fits. A lot. Dem eyes.
EDIT: Stupid bbcode tags. No image resizing?
Nice. Would be tricky to shake her hand. The whole heart skipping a beat thing seems a lot more understandable now. :)
How old is the empress though? I wonder if this one is too young?
As for resizing, I don't know how, but I do know Spoon did it in the original forum game with some of his images. You might be able to quote his posts and figure it out.
-
The admiral swore quietly as he read the message transcript, causing all conversation on the flag bridge to come to an abrupt halt: Ter-Judicator Jason Ralwood never swore unless someone or something had made him very, very angry. Everyone wasn't quite staring at him (his flagship's crew were far too professional to take their eyes off of their displays for no good reason, even if they were currently parked in the Silva system and not expecting combat any time soon), but the attention of everyone present was definitely, at least partially, directed towards the admiral as they wondered exactly what had caused the muttered expletive.
"Lieutenant Kollari," he finally said, his tone unmistakably one of command, even as his eyes never left his dataslate.
His flag lieutenant didn't flinch, however, as she was already standing at attention. "Yes, sir?"
"Inform Captain Asimov that I want us ready to move within the hour, then open a fleet-wide communications channel."
"Understood, Judicator."
Lieutenant Susan Kollari was in motion almost before she finished her acknowledgement, but Judicator Ralwood wasted no time as he put down the dataslate and turned to his staff. "I need an immediate response plan for an incursion by an unknown, presumed-hostile alien race or races from both the Crux and Kardoen systems, with unknown strength and capabilities."
Commodore Golovin gaped at him as though he hoped this was some sort of practical joke. Captain Nakhimov coughed as though to regain some composure and said, "I presume this is not a hypothetical incursion."
"It is not," Judicator Ralwood confirmed. "We have reports of multiple fleets of wildly differing composition arriving in human space from the aforementioned directions."
The admiral handed his dataslate to Commodore Golovin, who gulped and began reading as the remaining color drained from his face. Captain Nakhimov, the only member of the admiral's staff apparently brave enough to speak at the moment, continued doing so. "Do we have details on their combat capabilities?"
"At the moment, we do not. It is unlikely we will until and unless they are successfully engaged in battle. In the meantime, we will make best speed to--"
The admiral was interrupted by his flag lieutenant abruptly clearing her throat behind him. "Sir, the fleet-wide communications channel is ready."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," he replied, as he sat down in his chair and pressed the button that began transmitting his voice to every ship in the fleet. "Attention all officers and crew of the 1st Delest Dynasty Border Fleet: humanity is under attack.
"We have confirmed reports of unknown, presumed hostile alien fleets in both the Crux and Kardoen systems. Their numbers, capabilities, motives, and intentions are all unknown; their location means that we must assume the Aldebaran, Algol, Draco, and Hydra systems are all under imminent threat of attack. We will immediately set a course for the Tamy starlance; upon arriving in that system, we will waste no time in heading immediately to the Odin starlance. I intend to provide assistance as quickly as possible to defend against the incursion from Kardoen, but again, keep in mind: their numbers and capabilities are unknown. We must assume we will, in all likelyhood, not survive; our job is to ensure that our deaths are not meaningless."
The rest of the crew on the flag bridge seemed to take a collective nervous gulp at that pronouncement, although the admiral noticed out of the corner of his eye that Commodore Golovin actually seemed to be getting some of the color back in his face as he adjusted to the new reality.
"You are the Fist of Silva," he continued, his voice becoming a barely-suppressed growl."You will not fail in your task. We will make sure the enemy pays heavily for our lives. Ter-Judicator Jason Ralwood, out."
That was not the traditional sign-off for a fleet-wide transmission; however, nobody seemed likely to point this out to their admiral at the moment. Commodore Golovin stepped away from the multifunction table his staff was gathered around to hand his dataslate back.
"You know, of course," Golovin whispered as he leaned over, "that we have received no orders to mobilize."
"Yes," his admiral replied evenly, with the same volume. "It's entirely possible that I will be executed for my presumption, assuming we survive long enough for that to happen."
The commodore nodded and straightened, staring at the main holographic projection of the Silva system that was beginning to be filled in with the fleet's course as each ship's navigator began plotting a least-time course to the Starlance and reporting it to their flagship's CIC to coordinate their movements. He observed the course taking shape for a few moments, then turned back and began speaking at a more normal volume. "We shall commence work on our response plan immediately, Sir."
"Very good, Commodore," the admiral replied, and continued watching.
EDIT: Replaced Jason's rank with the properly DD-ified version.
-
Oh I hope you're going to tell a full story of your fleet here. I think the 1st DD has perhaps the best storytelling potential out of all of them.
That jumps you to the front of the respawn queue unless someone better placed in the queue puts in some RP between now and then. :)
-
Oh I hope you're going to tell a full story of your fleet here.
My goal is, yes, to tell a sequential story of the 1st DD (hence why I started from the beginning rather than with something more recent).
I plan to show up as reinforcements with a vengeance.
-
Oh I hope you're going to tell a full story of your fleet here.
My goal is, yes, to tell a sequential story of the 1st DD (hence why I started from the beginning rather than with something more recent).
I plan to show up as reinforcements with a vengeance.
You'll need a lot of boosts to have any realistic chance of doing that. Good luck to you.
(Though you might die and with the low RP participation get to come right back in again...)
-
Nice. Would be tricky to shake her hand. The whole heart skipping a beat thing seems a lot more understandable now. :)
How old is the empress though? I wonder if this one is too young?
In his faction blurbs Spoon stated that Yu Ki is quite young. It's possible that this is too young, but keep in mind that this is what Kalazonitov sees. Given his circumstances, what he sees might not be absolutely accurate. ;)
Oh I hope you're going to tell a full story of your fleet here.
My goal is, yes, to tell a sequential story of the 1st DD (hence why I started from the beginning rather than with something more recent).
I plan to show up as reinforcements with a vengeance.
You'll need a lot of boosts to have any realistic chance of doing that. Good luck to you.
(Though you might die and with the low RP participation get to come right back in again...)
Regarding the respawning mechanic: Can I role play and choose to give my bonus to another fleet?
And how much does a single point of power bonus affect the to-hit chance of a fleet?
-
Nice. Would be tricky to shake her hand. The whole heart skipping a beat thing seems a lot more understandable now. :)
How old is the empress though? I wonder if this one is too young?
In his faction blurbs Spoon stated that Yu Ki is quite young. It's possible that this is too young, but keep in mind that this is what Kalazonitov sees. Given his circumstances, what he sees might not be absolutely accurate. ;)
Not to mention that, well, genetic engineering is involved.
-
@ Enioch
I suppose you could choose a faction instead of your own fleet, but if you chose the DD, I'd put it in the 2nd because that's to stop multiple people sinking all the boosts into one fleet. It makes more sense to accumulate boosts on one fleet.
It gives an addition to the chance to hit of about 5.5%. Now that's a bigger deal than it might first appear with the hit chances being quite low in this game to begin with and especially with the harder to hit fleets. For instance if you went from 50% to 55% to hit something, that would be a 10% increase in your chance to hit that particular fleet. But if it was a 10% chance to begin with going to a 15% chance, that would make it 50% more likely to hit than it was before. So the boosts soon add up, especially against the more durable fleets. I hope that all makes sense, I'm sure there's a more precise mathematical term to describe the type of % increase it is.
-
"Twenty minutes to the Tamy starlance, Ter-Judicator."
Jason nodded to his staff's astrogation officer. "Thank you, Commander Okutsu." There was hardly reason for further conversation on the subject; he'd asked to be notified when they got close, and no additional orders would be needed for the transit. Without orders to countermand his earlier instructions, the ships would begin travelling to the Tamy system as soon as possible.
At that moment, a voice whispered in his right ear. "Sir, coded transmission for you."
Jason looked up and nodded to his flag lieutenant, accepting the dataslate she held out. The moment he took it, she stepped back and turned back to the holographic display in front of them, making sure she had no potential line of sight to read something she had no clearance to read. Jason smiled at that, then entered in his decryption key and began reading; the words he saw were disheartening, but hardly surprising:
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
<MINISTRY OF DEFENCE, DDFFLTCOM> && <MINISTRY OF DEFENCE, PENAL OFFICE>
to
<1ST DD FFLEET CO>
<CLEARANCE LEVEL: DELEST PROTON>
<MESSAGE BEGINS>
<**CODED TIMESTAMP**>
Judicator Ralwood,
We have received reports of full-scale fleet mobilisation of the 1st DD Frontier Fleet, effective from ca. 2300 hours yesterday.
You have not been issued orders which would justify such a mobilisation and, if said mobilisation was carried out at your orders, that would constitute gross abuse / overstepping of your authority and would be tantamount to mutiny.
You are hereby ordered to immediately provide DDFFLT HQ with a detailed log of all 1ST DDFFLT communications within the past 72 hours and stand down your forces. You are not to engage in any outbound Starlance interface from Silva.
Authorised inspectors of the Penal Commisariat have been assigned to the 1ST DDFFLT and will be arriving on board the HIDMS Salaminia shortly, to investigate the situation and the actions of the 1st DDFFLT officers. They are to be provided with any and all information they require to complete their investigation.
Failure to comply will be considered irrefutable evidence of mutiny and will elicit the appropriate disciplinary response.
Isshiki Delest, DDFFLTCOM
<MESSAGE ENDS>
<MESSAGE ID: F17557891>
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Jason nodded, closed the message, put down the dataslate (expiring his decryption key in the process so nobody else could pick it up and start reading classified information), and returned his attention to the icon floating in midair that indicated the Tamy starlance. Lieutenant Kollari was still hovering next to him, worried curiosity plainly evident on her face. "Sir, was that...?"
"No," he said, not taking his eyes off the holographic projection. "Our orders are unchanged; we will make transit through the Tamy starlance as scheduled."
-
I wonder if Jason Ralwood has more of a future under the Hierarchy than under his DD masters...
Still though, they must change their minds about carrying out the punishment if he's getting another fleet. Unless you have him lose his life and put a new character in charge of the new 1st DD...
-
I wonder if Jason Ralwood has more of a future under the Hierarchy than under his DD masters...
Still though, they must change their minds about carrying out the punishment if he's getting another fleet. Unless you have him lose his life and put a new character in charge of the new 1st DD...
All I can say is "wait and see"...
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Ter-Judicator Jason Ralwood glanced up from his dataslate to take in the holographic projection of the Tamy system. His fleet was roughly halfway through executing a least-time course between the Silva and Odin starlances, indicated as a blue curve stretching from the pulsing green dot that represented his fleet to the icon representing the Odin starlance. The path they'd travelled from the Silva starlance was itself represented in faded grey, and various points of interest were scattered throughout the plot (but not very many, because CIC knew that their admiral had no reason to need to know the location of every single civilian ship in the system, so the display was mostly empty). Since a single dot wasn't very helpful for knowing the status of the fleet, half of the display was taken up by an expanded representation of the fleet's formation, every ship color-coded according to its status (all green, thankfully) with a small sidebar containing additional details. Jason noticed that the HIDMS Gān Jiàng had suffered a minor mechanical failure in its port-side primary engines, but that the backups were holding and damage control teams were already working on the problem.
The admiral took in all of this information in less than a second and looked back down at his dataslate. He still hadn't received any transmissions from Ihefulian since the coded transmission almost a day ago, and he wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign; if nothing else, he'd expected to receive some sort of message complaining about his leaving the Silva system against the High Executor's orders, but there'd been nothing. Either somebody had introduced some sanity in the decision-making process, or they'd decided not to warn him before whatever they did next.
Commodore Golovin surreptitiously cleared his throat, causing a brief smirk to flicker across Jason's face before he got it under control. "You have a question, Commodore?"
"Well, Sir, I was just wondering..." but Golovin hesitated, unable to actually bring himself voice his concern.
Jason put the dataslate down and turned to his chief of staff. "No, I haven't yet been recalled for court martial followed by execution. Does that answer your question?"
Commander Okutsu didn't quite manage to restrain his gasp before Captain Chén clamped her hand over the astrogation officer's mouth. Captain Nakhimov, in an apparent attempt to distract everyone from the bluntness of her admiral's reply, began speaking. "Sir, we've received unconfirmed reports that the alien forces in Kardoen have split into two separate fleets and made transit through the Draco and Hydra starlances."
Judicator Ralwood nodded to his intelligence officer. "Thank you, Captain Nakhimov. Commander Okutsu, will Captain Mesuji's engine difficulties slow us down any?"
Okutsu blinked, momentarily glared at Captain Chén (who had removed her hand the moment the admiral began addressing him), then smoothed his expression as his professionalism took hold. "No, Ter-Judicator. The Gān Jiàng is having no trouble maintaining speed and her chief engineer expects the problem to be fixed within ten minutes. Assuming no other unexpected equipment failures, or ones insufficient to slow her down enough to fall behind the carriers, we should make transit as scheduled at approximately—" he double-checked his console "—seventeen thirty-eight and twenty-three seconds, shipboard time."
The admiral nodded at that and returned his attention to the dataslate. "Thank you, Commander; carry on, everyone."
Commander Hsieh abruptly stiffened, his hand reaching up to his earpiece. "Sir, priority transmission from the—" the sentence came to an abrupt halt as his jaw dropped.
Judicator Ralwood raised his eyebrow at his communications officer, waiting for him to finish his sentence, but he didn't seem inclined to do so on his own. "What is it Commander?"
"Sir," he said, shakily, "Captain Huáng of the HIDMS Salaminia demands that you bring all ships of the 1st Fleet to rest relative to the system primary, power down all shields and weapons, and prepare to be boarded pending charges of mutiny and treason."
"What!?" blurted Commodore Golovin.
Jason's eyebrows rose momentarily, but his expression otherwise didn't change. "I see; thank you, Commander. Inform Captain Huáng that his request is denied and his insinuations unappreciated."
That time, every eye on the bridge did turn away from their displays to stare at their admiral, however briefly. Commander Hsieh recovered quickly. "Uh, yes Sir."
As the commander began speaking into his microphone, Commodore Golovin pulled Judicator Ralwood aside. "Are you insane?" he whispered. "You can't just ignore 'requests' from the Penal Commisariat. They're liable to—"
Before he could finish, Commander Hsieh interrupted. "Captain Huáng insists that, unless you comply immediately, the Salaminia will open fire on the Aurora."
At that, there was a flash on the main plot to indicate that CIC had identified a new sensor contact: it was tentatively identified as the artillery cruiser HIDMS Salaminia, and somebody behind Jason gasped at how close they'd gotten to an active and aware fleet before being detected.
Jason thought furiously for a few moments. Actually heaving to was unacceptable; any delay meant thousands, if not millions, of dead civilians. On the other hand, the Salaminia could move faster than his fleet, which had to move at the speed of his slowest ships (unless he wanted to split it up piecemeal, which would be as good as begging to be blown out of space when they finally made contact with the enemy), so he couldn't outrun them. If he ordered his own artillery to open fire first, would they obey? If they did, would anyone else in the fleet still be willing to follow him after he obliterated a friendly target?
"Sir!" Commander Hsieh interrupted his thought process, his voice somehow even more urgent than before. "Coded transmission from Ihefulian Prime!"
Ter-Judicator Jason Ralwood (and perhaps this would be the last moment he would actually hold that rank) pulled up his dataslate and entered his decryption key and scanned the text quickly. Commodore Golovin, still standing in front of him and unable to read the words, nonetheless stared at the device and his imagination expected only one thing: For crimes against the Empire, you have been stripped of your rank...
Jason wiped the display and revoked his decryption key again. "Put me on with Captain Huáng."
Commander Hsieh complied, and Jason spoke confidently. "This is Ter-Judicator Jason Ralwood, Commanding Officer of the 1st Delest Dynasty Frontier Fleet. I am operating under direct orders and by the imperial mandate of Her Imperial Delest Majesty, Empress Yu Ki Kohakuren Delest. I highly recommend that you confirm your orders with your superiors; something tells me you haven't checked back in recently. Any further attempts to impede the operations of this fleet will be interpreted as treason against the Empire, and we will blow you out of space. Ter-Judicator Ralwood out."
With that, he hit the button to terminate the transmission just shy of being hard enough to be called punching it. Commodore Golovin was gaping at him. "Sir, are you sure this is the wisest...?"
"Don't worry, Commodore," Jason assured him. "Everything will be fine."
Golovin slowly swallowed, but said nothing. Everyone watched the plot, looking for any sign that the Salaminia was about to open fire. Thirty seconds passed. A minute. Finally, the ship abruptly began accelerating in the opposite direction, heading back to the Silva starlance. Several people loudly released their breaths, but Jason didn't particularly feel like holding that against them.
Golovin frowned. "There's no way they had time to send and receive a message from Ihefulian that quickly."
"Indeed," Jason replied with a nod. "Assuming they received no additional orders spontaneously, they probably decided not to call my bluff."
"You were bluffing!?" Golovin replied, wide-eyed, barely keeping his voice below a shout.
"I didn't say that," Jason said back with a frown. "However, from their perspective and, again, assuming no additional transmissions, they would have no way of confirming what I said in a reasonable timeframe. They must have at least considered the possibility that I was bluffing."
Commodore Golovin's eyes flicked down to Jason's dataslate, which he'd left on the table. "Sir, if you don't mind my asking... what did—?"
Jason's frown became a scowl. "Commodore Golovin, as we have known each other for quite some time, I'm certain I must have misheard what I thought was a request to view a classified document for which you are not authorized."
"Yes, Sir," Golovin said with a gulp, his eyes snapping away from the dataslate. "I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding."
Jason nodded and returned to his chair, but Commodore Golovin couldn't help but wonder if the Salaminia was just the beginning.
-
OOC: Well, that's my cue, I think
This takes place between the two preceding AdmRal RP posts. The 3rd DD has not left Ihefulian yet.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Kalazonitov was known among his closest friends and his subordinates for his even temper. But there were signs – signs that those who really knew him couldn’t miss. There were very few known triggers – and, given the old Praetor’s temperament, they mostly had to do with people abusing their authority.
Tanya Skivlana delivered the missive; Kalazonitov looked up from his meeting with the current Archangel executives; smiled; excused himself and read through the report.
Tanya was, in truth, expecting it but she was still surprised at how the old man’s body froze. The executives missed it, and continued their discussion on how to deal with the increased drydock activities; Kalazonitov paid them no heed. His eyes were glued to the datapad, his body a block of ice.
Then his eyebrow twitched. His right hand shook, infinitesimally.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, his voice trembling. “You will please excuse me. I have just received some very bad news and I need to bring this discussion to a close immediately.”
The conversation stopped, abruptly. The executives exchanged worried glances. Some of them made to protest – it wasn’t easy to schedule these appointments, they were busy men etc.- but others, more experienced and savvy ones, rose, bowed, excused themselves and nearly dragged their fellows away. The doors closed. There was silence.
“Tanya,” Kalazonitov muttered, his hands now truly shaking. “Please present my excuses to these fine Ladies and Gentlemen at the earliest convenience.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Also, stand back a little, if you please.”
Tanya stepped back, into the shadow of the doorframe and assumed her best parade rest and thousand-yard stare. While they both knew what was going to happen, it was an unspoken agreement that she would try to maintain a level of professionalism for the both of them in such situations.
There were a few seconds of tense silence.
And then the dataslate flew across the meeting room in a blur, its screen smashing into crystal shards against the opposite wall.
Kalazonitov bellowed in wordless rage and rose, a nearly comical stick-figure unfolding from his armchair. His hands hooked under the table and heaved – and all two-hundred pounds of steel and glass flipped over like a pancake. He reached behind him, grabbed his chair and swung it overhead, smashing it into the remains of the table again and again and again and again, until he was holding nothing but a mass of bent metal and tatters of cloth.
“RAAAakisamanokozyolmudakgrrrraaaaaaak.
His bellows eventually resolved into garbled curses, as his thrashing slowed – and slowed – and then there was heavy breathing and his legs gave out and he collapsed onto the floor, his hands still thumping on the remains of his chair. Tanya immediately was beside him, raising him into a sitting position while he gulped for big gasps of air.
“It’s over, it’s over,” he mumbled, leaning on her for support. “Thank you Tanya.”
“Of course, sir,” she answered, helping him to one of the few chairs that had survived his outburst. “That was a bad one, wasn’t it?”
“Oh yes,” Kalazonitov agreed with a crooked smile. “Quite a bad one. Not been so angry in a while.”
He exhaled again, and again and breathed in. The trembling receded; he managed to sit up without too much help.
“We need to move fast, if we are to salvage this situation,” he said. “Tanya, I need an Imperial audience. Now. I…I need to explain, to make Her see. If I can explain…This is madness. We should be praising him, not accusing him of mutiny.”
“Yes, sir,” Tanya agreed, her tone neutral. “I shall do my best. But I cannot guar-”
The door opened with no warning, a serious breach of discipline Both heads snapped up, to glare at the unfortunate communications officer who had just walked in.
“Get out,” Tanya snapped, her voice as cold as ice. Her hand reached to her belt for her service pistol.
The boy – he couldn’t be older than thirty blanched and stumbled, as if he’d walked into a wall (vat grown, that one, for sure) – but then his mouth narrowed into a determined line, he frowned and pushed forward.
“No, ma’am,” he said, his voice granite. “I have orders. Praetor, sir, this has just arrived.”
He stepped closer, navigating the fragments of the table and knelt
Knelt?
in front of Kalazonitov.
“Lieutenant, I have no idea what you think you’re doing, but this had better be…” Kalazonitov started, but his words trailed off as the boy presented a dataslate to him, holding it high, as if it were a holy relic.
“Sir. This has just arrived,” he repeated. “From the Palace.”
Kalazonitov stared; then, with short, jerky movements he thumbed the identification sensor at the side. And fell back as if under a physical blow when the VOICE started speaking.
“Praetor Kalazonitov, recent developments have made it clear to Us that a stricter oversight of Our Officer Corps is necessary if the Dynasty is to emerge victorious from this conflict.
“You are hereby awarded a Class 2 Mandate, and are established as Our plenipotentiary representative and assessor for Our officer corps.
“You have five days from reception of this message to excise those whom you deem to be the most corrupt, incompetent or downright mutinous of Our fleet personnel.
“You answer to no-one except Us for the duration of this Mandate. Your authority is only second to Ours and Class 1 Mandate holders.
“You have Our full trust in this matter. Our thoughts are with you.”
There was silence, except for the faint rustling of the uniform of the shivering Lieutenant. There were things that vat-grown people of his rank were barely able to withstand and Her voice – even a recording of it - was certainly one of them.
“Dismissed,” Kalazonitov croaked. And the Lieutenant got up, saluted like an automaton and left.
“She knew already,” Kalazonitov mused, once the door had closed. “I will never doubt again.”
“Sir?” Tanya’s voice was strained. “This is not a purge. You can’t – not it five days!”
“No, not in that short a time,” Kalazonitov agreed. “But the High Executor doesn’t hold a Mandate – just his rank. She doesn’t want me to purge the entire corps. That’d be disastrous, in the middle of a war. She wants to send a message.”
He staggered to his feet, reaching for his cane. Tanya obliged him.
“On the one hand – a Frontier Fleet Ter-Judicator, mobilizing his fleet against the enemy, but without orders to that effect. On the other hand, a Delest High Judicator of the Home Fleets, accusing him of mutiny. And She gives a purge order. To me.
“Make this known to the Commisariat and have them stand by to assist us. Get Vladimir Ilievich himself, if you have to. Also - get me a direct secure line to the Yonsakuren HQ. I want us to move within the next two hours and I need to discuss this with them.”
He smiled – and there were a lot of teeth.
“Mark my words, Tanya. I will never doubt Her again.”
-
So I guess we'll be seeing that High Adjudicator of the Home Fleets and what happens when they meet Kalazonitov... I'm looking forward to it. If what happened to that table, and especially that smile is anything to go by, I wouldn't want to be in their shoes... :)
-
Ter-Judicator Jason Ralwood strode calmly down the corridor towards his personal quarters; any further excitement today was unlikely, and he wanted to make sure he was well-rested before the fleet arrived in the Odin system. The Yonsakuren marine acting as his bodyguard trailed a respectful distance behind him (but still plenty close enough to intervene if someone should take them by surprise, even here in the heart of the flagship). Another standing guard outside his quarters saluted the both of them as they approached, and his personal bodyguard made a quick sweep of the room before joining her counterpart, standing at attention on the opposite side of the door. Jason nodded to them both, then entered his quarters and sat behind his desk, pulling his dataslate back out to review the message he'd received at the critical moment.
Before he could start, however, there came a chime from his desk. "Yes?"
"Sir," came the voice of Colonel Alekseyevna through the intercom, giving Jason a brief moment to wonder why she hadn't simply opened the door and talked to him in person... until she continued speaking and answered the question. "Commodore Golovin is here to see you."
"Thank you, Anastasia; send him in."
Golovin stepped warily through the door and stood awkwardly in front of the desk. "Judicator, I know we've known each other for quite some time, but your actions lately have got me... worried."
"I see," Jason said, with a nod. "That's certainly understandable, and I do appreciate our friendship, so let me ask you a question: do you disagree with my actions?"
The commodore opened his mouth, hesitated, thought for a few more moments, then said, "No, I cannot in good conscience say that I disagree with your actions thus far."
It was, perhaps, fortunate that Judicator Ralwood's self-control was great enough to avoid raising his eyebrows at that, as the commodore might have taken that the wrong way. "Very well, then. Since I feel like you've been honest with me, let me return the favour and assure you: I spoke only the truth in my transmission to Captain Huáng."
Golovin's eyes widened at that. "Truly?"
Jason picked up his dataslate and continued, "Let me remind you that it would be most improper for me to show a classified document to an unauthorized individual. However, there is something I can show you, that I hope will put your mind at ease..."
With that, he tapped momentarily at his dataslate and handed it over. Commodore Golovin accepted it carefully, looked down... and almost dropped it in shock. "I... I never thought I'd actually see a Class 2 Imperial Mandate," he said in hushed tones, his eyes full of wonder, and he stared at it for several seconds before handing it back. "Thank you, my friend."
Jason smiled at him as he accepted the dataslate. "Good night, Yevgeni."
"Good night, Jason." And with that, and an academy-perfect salute, Commodore Golovin left.
There was a long-standing belief—mostly spread unintentionally by the ignorant, but sometimes maliciously—that natural-borns did not have the same genetically-engineered loyalty as vat-borns. In some sense, it could even be considered true: Jason Ralwood did not have the same level of reverence for his Empress that, say, Premier Kalazonitov did. That did not mean, however, that he didn't have doubts of his own about moving without orders, or that it hadn't taken every ounce of his self-control not to obey High Executor Isshiki Delest's orders to stand down. Only the knowledge that his actions were necessary and the fact that, while the High Executor may carry the name "Delest" he was not the Empress, had been enough to stop him from turning his ships around then and there...
...and equally, that same self-control was the only thing that had stopped him from breaking into reverential tears when he'd received this message less than thirty minutes prior:
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
<DELEST THRONE> && <MINISTRY OF DEFENCE, DDFFLTCOM> && <MINISTRY OF DEFENCE, PENAL OFFICE>
to
<1ST DD FFLEET CO>
<CLEARANCE LEVEL: DELEST PROTON><OVERRIDE PROTOCOL: GOLD ALPHA>
<MESSAGE BEGINS>
<**CODED TIMESTAMP**>
Judicator Ralwood,
You and your officers are to disregard message F17557891, sent at <**CODED TIMESTAMP**> and belay all orders included therein, following High Executor Isshiki Delest’s arrest on charges of corruption, embezzlement, gross incompetence and anti-natural-born prejudice. All charges of mutiny against the CO, officers and crew of the 1st DDFFLT have been voided by imperial edict.
Your new orders are, effective retroactively from <**CODED TIMESTAMP**>, listed in order of priority:
1. To prepare your fleet to the best of your ability and that of your officers and crew for combat.
2. To employ all means necessary so as to hinder, engage, destroy and in all other ways stop the advance of the (as of yet unidentified) enemy fleets intruding upon Terran space.
3. To prevent enemy fleets from occupying DELEST and ALLIANCE systems and inflicting casualties upon DELEST and ALLIANCE civilians.
4. To liaise and collaborate with CRF, SF, UGC, LSF and CSF forces as instructed by the ALLIANCE COMMAND during the execution of your duties.
5. To preserve the lives of the personnel under your command and the integrity of your fleet in anticipation of a counterattack against the enemy forces.
Be advised that the 3rd DDFFLT is currently mobilising and will be on-station to reinforce by <**CODED TIMESTAMP**>. Logistics fleets have already been dispatched, to cover your ammunition and other supply needs.
Personal missive from DELEST THRONE follows:
<GOLD ALPHA DECODE>
OUR congratulations and gratitude for your actions.
You are hereby awarded a CLASS 2 IMPERIAL MANDATE to execute OUR will. You are now plenipotentiary and speak with OUR authority within the limits set by the above orders. You answer to nobody but US until said MANDATE is revoked.
OUR thoughts are with you.
YKKD
(http://i1054.photobucket.com/albums/s490/kingspoon/WoD/Emb_DD_zpsya99tzt9.png~original)
</DECODE>
Please accept my personal congratulations and my best wishes for your success.
Ivan D. Kalazonitov, DDFFLTCOM (Acting)
<MESSAGE ENDS>
<MESSAGE ID: T2568891>
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
"Thank you, Bright Lady," the admiral whispered prayerfully into the night, before he set the dataslate down and tried to get some sleep.